A BED OF BOUGHS. 173 



homes these fish have, what retreats under the rocks, 

 what paved or flagged courts and areas, what crystal 

 depths where no net or snare can reach them ! no 

 mud, no sediment, but here and there in the clefts 

 and seams of the rock patches of white gravel, 

 spawning beds ready-made. 



The finishing touch is given by the moss with 

 which the rock is everywhere carpeted. Even in the 

 narrow grooves or channels where the water runs the 

 swiftest, the green lining is unbroken. It sweeps 

 down under the stream and up again on the other 

 side like some firmly-woven texture. It softens every 

 outline and cushions every stone. At a certain depth 

 in the great basins and wells it of course ceases, and 

 only the smooth, swept flagging of the place-rock is 

 visible. 



The trees are kept well back from the margin of 

 the stream by the want of soil, and the large ones 

 unite their branches far above it, thus forming a high 

 winding gallery, along which the fisherman passes 

 and makes his long casts with scarcely an interrup- 

 tion from branch or twig. In a few places he makes 

 no cast, but sees from his rocky perch the water 

 twenty feet below him, and drops his hook into it as 

 into a well. 



We made camp at a bend in the creek where 

 there was a large surface of mossy rock uncovered 

 by the shrunken stream a clean, free space left for 

 us in the wilderness that was faultless as a kitchen 

 and dining-room, and a marvel of beauty as a loung- 



